


It's Free Real Estate

by sunnymatsu



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Half-Life VR But the AI is Self-Aware, Horror, M/M, gordon gets haunted its fine its cool, idk how to tag things please help, if you wanna know what kind of horror this is, im so sorry for how edgy this looks at first glance. i just love ghosts, thats what im emulating here. hopefully, think rpg maker horror games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnymatsu/pseuds/sunnymatsu
Summary: Gordon gets everything he wanted.A new home. A new job.A new life...He's not the only one who wanted this, and he's not the only one who'll get it.--Haunted house AU! Get ready for a wild ride, the lore on this is deep and over-complicated because planning it out is easier than actually writing. I'm farther ahead than I'll post, but I'm keeping chapters hidden until I complete more so I have more incentive, because getting myself to work is... not easy. Let's hope for the best!
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Tommy Coolatta, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), later though - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	1. Kind of Cliché

When the man first approaches him, he's understandably suspicious— a man like that is hard _not_ to suspect, especially given the circumstances. Late at night, at the train station, Gordon not even quite sure why he's here in the first place... It's a prime setup for a horror story, no doubt.

But Gordon isn't worried about horror. He knows how to handle himself. Luckily, it doesn't come to that— the stranger sits down next to him, and strikes up a conversation. The man speaks to him calmly, openly, and Gordon ends up leaning into the first real conversation he's had in weeks. It's comforting. 

"So, mister..."

"Freeman. Gordon. Gordon Freeman. Doctor, actually."

" _Mr._ Freeman... what, brings you to... a place such as this? This late at night?"

The man's voice has a strange lilt to it, starting and stopping mid-sentence. He over-enunciates his S's, elongating them in a way that almost reminds Gordon of a snake. Somehow these peculiarities leave Gordon with a sense of genuine intrigue. As much as he tries to convince himself he's happy with his life of monotony and shitty office jobs that his degree doesn't factor into in the _slightest_ , he's _bored._ Bored and _lonely_. This is, somehow, a nice change of pace. The conversation continues.

"Yeah, I've been sorta... hoppin' around places, lately. Sleeping on my brother's couch one day, pulling an all-nighter at the office the next... Y'know how it is."

"Hmm."

They talk for a while. A pretty long while, in fact. Gordon can see the first rays of sunlight by the time they wrap things up. Granted, he's been doing most of the talking, but he certainly doesn't mind. He's just glad to have the company. 

He's never been a people person, but with the luck he's been having lately... Beggars can't be choosers.

"You... are quite, the interesting man, Mr. Freeman."

"Heh."

"I have a... business opportunity, of... sorts, for you." The man stands up from his position on the bench next to Gordon. "How would... you like, to work for me? In a sense."

Gordon squints. "What kind of work."

The man hums to himself. "Let's just say... Something that will put your, _talents,_ to good... use. And you will... of course, be... fairly compensated. How would you like a, new... living space, hm?"

 _That_ gets Gordon's attention.

# \--

He is, of course, suspicious. Some random... businessman(?) just walks up in the middle of the night handing him a business card (with _no name on it)_ and offering him a house for some job that he'll "get into the, _details_ of, later"? If Gordon had to rate the potential that the guy was a murderer on a scale of one to ten, he'd put it at about a "that briefcase was _absolutely_ full of knives". The address on the business card is out in the middle of nowhere, for god's sake. He shows it to some people at work, and the way they grimace at the sight of it seems to confirm his suspicions. No house for Gordon, it seems. Damn. 

After one too many "Oh HELL no"s from his baffled coworkers, he bothers to ask what the deal with the place is. His coworkers exchange nervous looks, and one leans in to _whisper_ for some reason. What Gordon hears next immediately short-circuits his brain.

_"That place is haunted."_

He _loses it_ . " _THAT'S_ what this is about? _HAUNTED?_ You guys really think-- **_HAUNTED???_ ** ” he chokes out between laughs. "Everyone here is telling me not to get my own place because- because you all think _ghosts_ are _real?_ "

 _Haunted_. The greatest deal of his life is gonna pass him by just because of some dumbass superstition? Fuck that noise. If everyone else is gonna buy into this bullshit, he’s sure as hell gonna take advantage of it. 

So next thing he knows, he's packing up all his (admittedly few) belongings and hitting the road, all worries forgotten. _Haunted._ He's still laughing, now, as he drives for hours out towards a new life. He won't miss a thing, save for his brother-- who insists he can visit whenever, so it's fine. New Year, New Gordon. 

He calls the guy when he gets there. Tries to ask for his name, but the question gets dodged pretty quickly. Apparently he's busy. Alright. "You can, go ahead and... make yourself at home," he says. "As I said, I will let you know of the, specifics of our arrangement... later."

This would frustrate Gordon if he wasn't still thinking about the "haunted" thing. So he just lets out a "Sure," and heads on in.

When he opens the door a chill runs down his spine, and he laughs from the cliche of it all. It's a pretty old house, with creaky floorboards and paint chipping off and all the rest. This makes him laugh more, and he's got a grin on his face all the while as he gets his stuff out of the car and brings it in. Finally.

Finally, he has a place to sleep that isn't someone else's, isn't the back seat of his car, isn't outside at night in the cold. 

A _home_.


	2. Sighting

The man still hasn't given him a straight answer. All "In due time"s and "Give yourself a bit to settle in"s. Gordon is still suspicious of this "job", but for now he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A gift house in the door? Whatever. 

The house is, admittedly, not the best place to live. It's old and falling apart in some places, way out in the middle of nowhere (which was apparently just fine for the job?), and the place's heating is nowhere near comfortable. If there even is heating? Gordon isn't sure. But for all it's faults, it has just as many bonuses. Two main stories, a shitty basement and an even shittier attic _all to himself._ The place is practically a maze. It's worlds apart from anywhere he's stayed before now, and he's _still_ reeling. The amount of space he suddenly has almost scares him. It's a bit _too_ open. 

In fact, there's a _lot_ of things that _almost_ scare him about the house. Not enough to really unnerve him, but enough to keep him on edge in a way he doesn't quite register at first. Little things, like cupboards left open, noises in the middle of the night, things getting lost and popping up again somewhere else. Nothing he can’t write off as simple forgetfulness and paranoia (both things he knows well). 

The anxiety doesn't bother him too much until a few days into his stay when he wakes up to the sound of footsteps.

He lays in bed for a while, trying to convince himself he's imagining it. Letting it blend into the natural sounds of the house. Trying to justify it as a branch against the window, or the quiet thump of rain on the metal roof. His bed is cold, and he snuggles deeper into the comforter he brought with him. Runs his hands along the familiar patterns. The footsteps fade, return, and fade again. He shivers. Slowly, slowly, he falls back asleep.

He wakes up shaking.

Getting out of bed feels like a herculean task, but he manages. He gets dressed and brushes his teeth in a dreary haze. The house seems even larger than normal as he walks down the stairs to the kitchen.

He yawns while he makes his coffee, rolling his stiff shoulders back as he does so. Most of his body is stiff, actually. God, he slept like shit, and he's already forgotten why. Probably the cold. _(Does sleeping in the cold make you feel stiff? That sounds like it makes sense.)_ Speaking of cold, his coffee's done! That'll warm him up. He's too tired to even bother adding sweetener, so he just drinks it black.

It really does warm him up! The first sip burns his tongue a bit, but just holding the mug helps him feel better. He waits a bit before taking another sip, walking over to a small table by the window. It's a nice day out. Looking out, he sees that there's a small garden outside that doesn't look like it's been tended to in years. Half the plants are overgrown and the other half are long dead, and somehow a few seem to be both? Aside from the garden there's not a ton to look at outside, past shitty little shrubs and a lot of dirt. Of course that's the case, this is practically a desert! How it manages to be so cold in this house, he has no idea. He makes a mental note to check around for a thermostat later.

He raises the mug back up to his face, closing his eyes and just appreciating the warmth emanating from it. He puts the mug to his lips and he hears footsteps again, _loud,_ and suddenly the mug is shattered on the floor and there's burning-hot coffee all over him and _somebody is in the window looking at him,_ and he screams and adrenaline lets him fling the curtains closed before the pain really sets in. His mind is absolutely reeling, so he goes into autopilot, sucking air through his teeth and limping away from the window towards the _stairs_ goddamnit he has to climb these, don't think about the guy in the window, it's fine it's fine. It's totally fine. He limps up the stairs with curses streaming from his mouth. Thank _god_ he had let the coffee cool down a bit. He can barely imagine how bad this shit would be if he hadn't. _(That's it, focus on the coffee, Gordon.)_ Once he gets to his room, he slumps down against a wall and sighs deeply. Breathe, breathe, breathe, Gordon, breathe.

He gets up and, taking deep breaths, he gets a change of clothes. He then proceeds to spend about 15 minutes finding the laundry room, which is a new record for finding something in this goddamn place. 

Once his clothes are safely in the wash, he sits down to take another breather. _God,_ his legs sting. As he calms down a bit, the pain really starts to catch up with him. Maybe he should take a shower _NO_ , no, not a shower, bad fucking idea right now, creepy guy in window =/= shower time. Fuck. 

He leans back in the chair with a strained sigh. Was that guy even _real?_ Is this part of the fucking _job?_ God, he never should've... God. _(C'mon Gordon, you need distractions. Focus on... the coffee?)_ Well, he's plenty awake now, but he was pretty excited about that coffee. Okay, maybe excited is the wrong word, but he's fucking thirsty and a little pissed off. So he goes and, hesitantly, he makes some more coffee.

He can't help but peer out the window while he waits for the water to boil. Nothing. He stares out at the garden until the sound of boiling water snaps him out of it and makes him walk back over the counter. Maybe he really did imagine it? The guy had a hat on, so his face wasn't really visible. If he was real, it's not like Gordon could identify him in a crowd. Or at all. Jesus Christ. Alright. There are three main possibilities here:

  1. He was a real person, maybe living nearby? There is one other house he saw that seemed _fairly_ close.
  2. Gordon needs to schedule another therapist appointment?
  3. ~~The house really is haunted?~~



Okay, _two_ main possibilities. Neither of them are great, but... 

Gordon sighs, and dials the number the strange businessman had given him. Gordon bounces his leg anxiously as the phone rings, and rings, and rings, and the guy doesn't even fucking pick up. God. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Plan B. What's Plan B?

Plan B, Gordon resolves, is to just fucking drive over to the other house and knock on the door. He wouldn't be able to recognize the guy, probably, but he could at least ask a question or two. Plus, meeting the neighbors is a normal thing to do, right? Should he make cookies? No, fuck, no cookies, the last time he tried to bake did NOT go well, no cookies, no cake, no guy in his window **FUCK** ing stop thinking about that, god. 

Okay, have a normal day, go to sleep, THEN visit the neighbor. Tomorrow. Today, he's just going to have a normal one.

This cup of coffee doesn't taste as good as the first one did.


End file.
